


Paragon

by herbailiwick



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991)
Genre: Ableism, Animal Death, Character with Dwarfism, Gaston as Beast (Disney), Gen, Hunters & Hunting, M/M, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-10-23 20:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10726191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herbailiwick/pseuds/herbailiwick
Summary: This is a sequel toBeauty and the Beastwith Gaston turning into a beast, which is an idea that has never truly let me go since my first attempt in 2012.





	1. Prologue

Checking on her handiwork as the prince and his castle returned to their former state, and reveling in the fairness of the victory, the quiet enchantress could be called long-suffering for her lack of interference after placing the spell, for her attention to the slightest (and boldest) changes in it over the years.

She was particular in creating the quests she doled out. She owed it to her sense of fairness to judge according to consistent values, and she owed it to nature, perhaps the only other force she thought was worth listening to, to let things run their honest course. Her attention was drawn away from the castle with a heaviness like the rich fabric of curtains unused to their tying ropes. Something unexpected was happening, and she would need to explore.

A stout strand of the spell’s magic was stretched out and down, along the steep cliff, as if it was dead set on revitalizing something else that she could not see from her vantage point. She followed the slope of it, soaring alongside its familiar energy like partners in a strange dance, expecting to see a servant who fell long ago. 

The kill was fresh, and he was not a servant. 

A man from the village who had lived a village life was struggling for breath from reforming lungs, his bones cracking back into solid pieces as he moved slickly in his own blood on the grass. He was not in any pain.

A shattered face regained its handsomeness all too quickly, and she was disheartened to see it—a mask over an unpromising aura. He was self-assured even in his rest, and she would need to return him to his village before he woke. With her mirror, she would watch, and he would, by the laws of fairness and nature, decide his own fate.


	2. Province

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston is returned to the village.

The enchantress took on the appearance of a strong young man, almost a rival of the renewed villager’s in physique (yet not in handsomeness), before arriving in the village on a conjured horse with him slumped in her burly arms. It didn’t take long for the sight of him to stir up the simple townsfolk, who muttered and pointed when they weren’t staring in awe. Some even called out his name, which was Gaston.

She was led to the tavern, where a group of men helped lower Gaston from the horse. The structure was spacious, somehow common, in contrast to the setting of her last test, surrounded by villagers and not cruel woods.

The largest man helped her bring the body to the door, his steps sure, his grip steady. The smallest man, named Thomas, held open the door. She was still assessing the usefulness of such a place when she caught sight of the tavern’s back wall and stopped so suddenly that the large man stumbled. Cursed. Almost fell. 

She hardly noticed. “What is all this?” she called, voice low like the flicker of candlelight. “What has been done here?” 

There was a silence that stretched from one friend of Gaston to another in their obvious concern for him before the oldest man spoke.

“You admire his trophies. Some are from his travels. Exotic beasts.” It wasn’t so much the exotic beasts that made it a gruesome display of arrogance. 

“Some are from the forest you passed through,” Thomas added. “Our Gaston is a legend around here. Though, he gets help from us once in a while!” 

It was the forest of her making, cursed and cold, her insurance in the game with the prince. She recognized every creature adorning the wall that she had corrupted or conjured. The man she had unwittingly saved had desecrated her forest as well as her test. 

The large man shifted Gaston with a grunt, noting, “Should we not get him to bed?”

Gaston had claimed her creation as his own, acquiring the beauty to trap it and display it in a way she had rarely had the desire to take note of before. The blond one pointed toward the wall, not speaking, Thomas announcing for him, “Gaston saved Richard from that charging buck. We have the most vicious deer in France.”

“Monsieur?” asked the large man.  


She remembered their fragility, the villagers. They appreciated Gaston’s skill as a bringer of death because they thought it was artistry, but also because it meant the promise of safety. “Yes, let’s set him to rest,” she told them gently, full of the embers of disgust and intrigue mixing together. Did they think of him as an altruist?

His bed was in a small room at the back, one more humble than she had expected after dealing with the prince, but the space soon became filled with a crescendo of volume and energy as they wove stories of their finest expeditions into one, before it all unraveled again.

The concern returned. She disappeared from it in a breath’s time, leaving them with the illusion of her riding away on a conjured horse. 

***

“I don’t even understand it, seeing him this way.” Stanislav adjusted Gaston on the bed idly. “Have we any smelling salts?”

"The ‘Ettes may know,” said Thomas, who quickly set out the back door to find them. The tavern was starting to fill with concerned villagers. He would only be slowed down if he went back into it, and the ‘Ettes did not like to be kept waiting when it came to news about Gaston. They worked in the tavern, whereas most of Gaston’s closest friends just drank in it.

Dick stepped closer to the bed in Tom’s absence, trying to wrap his head around the picture Gaston made, so small and somehow innocent, definitely not boastful or ready to protect anything. He rubbed his mouth both in thought and to soothe it; he had lost teeth in a battle with a dresser and had a deep ache in his jaw he tried not to exacerbate with speech.

Gauthier, the oldest man in the group, a mentor of sorts for even Gaston, poked his head in and grunted out, “I’m going to get the doctor, and you should find LeFou.” Stanley stood, understanding the statement to be something of an order.

Gaston’s hunting had saved people from wolves and deer and even bears that had gotten too close. Here he was, in a deep sleep, saved by a strange man after his friends had run in fear from the castle. The existence of animate furniture had been upsetting enough, but for them to have failed Gaston was another thing entirely.

They all liked to hunt. They liked the power and the familiarity of it. It made sense. So did poking fun at the villagers, and living the simplest lives they could. Danger came in thinking too hard on anything, on the world around them and the fact it wasn’t always so simple.  


“I wonder what happened after we ran off,” Stanislav said to Dick, giving him a pat on the shoulder as he sat down in his stead. “We should go back there.”

Richard shook his head slowly with wide eyes, wondering at why Stan would even say such a thing. 

“I want answers,” Stanley shrugged. “That wasn’t natural.”

Richard reached out and placed a hand on Gaston’s ridiculous bicep, as if searching for strength. Against his better judgment, he nodded, glancing over his shoulder to see Stan grin. 

Sunlight streamed in briefly as Stan left through the back door to find LeFou, who was probably sleeping off a pretty large hangover with no idea Gaston had even been missing long enough to need a stranger’s help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tom = Thomas (short with dark hair)  
> Dick = Richard (blond)  
> Stanley = Stanislav (largest, has a beard)  
> Walter = Gauthier (oldest) 
> 
> [(full)](http://68.media.tumblr.com/4e89dbe05b823350231eb74888af1a40/tumblr_opq8qdqn4M1qgs8g1o2_1280.jpg)


	3. Pandora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston is revived, and some of the villagers inform his friends of a change in the castle.

If Gaston’s fine tavern was the best place to drink in the village (and it was), the next best place was LeFou’s home. The cottage was tailored to his size in many aspects, down to the roughly-hewn stools and the short table, yet, even for a large man like Stanislav, there was something about the the lived-in clutter of bottles and dogeared texts that let problems disappear like the liquor they drank: quickly and without much notice. 

The cold stove held a bit of stew in its pot, left over from the night before. Stan peered in at it thoughtfully, grateful to it for the sense of casual routine it had afforded himself and Dick as they had eaten. They may have discovered furniture that fought back and won against them, but, other than blooming bruises and the state of Richard’s mouth, things were as they always had been in the small house, at the cramped table.

LeFou eyes were still closed when he asked, “Hey. What’s going on, Stan?” 

Stan was not surprised by the fact his friend was awake, nor by the fact he was right about the identity of his uninvited guest. “We found Gaston.”

LeFou cracked open one eye. There was a strange energy about Stan. He’d heard it in his footsteps, and now he saw it on his face. “Did I miss the speech?” he tried. Last LeFou remembered, they’d been waiting for Gaston to show up and announce his victory in the daylight, dramatic and brave. 

Stan waved away the entire line of thought. “Someone else found him, if you want to get technical. A stranger on a horse.”  


Both of LeFou’s eyes snapped open at that, his gaze narrowing with thought as he examined Stanley’s expression. “A stranger, huh? He must have really needed the help,” he admitted darkly. 

Stan nodded, wholly agreeing with the sentiment. He watched as LeFou kicked off the blanket he was fairly tangled up in. “Docteur is on his way. I saw no injuries present, but he will not wake.” 

Nodding passionately as he lifted up his nightshirt, LeFou got his head and arms stuck for a moment. LeFou often lacked physical grace, which was one of the things about him that made Gaston look brilliant in comparison, but Stanley didn’t mind helping him, whether that meant reaching something up high or gathering up his clothes so they could hurry back.   

***

“There are people in the tavern already,” Stan cautioned as they walked, each large stride of his making matched with LeFou’s buoyant steps.   


“Why am I not surprised?” quipped LeFou. Gaston was astonishingly popular in the village, and LeFou understood the hype, often using it to his own advantage.  


Entering the front door to keep an eye on the number of guests being tended to by the sleepy-eyed bartender, Pierre, as Gauthier made the rounds with a tale about Gaston’s arrival, they saw Tom leading Paulette, Claudette, and Laurette into the back room with smelling salts in hand. They followed them in quickly, finding there wasn’t much room left for Stan in the bedroom. 

LeFou, for his part, could fit just about anywhere. Being small and not generally aware of his physical impact, he pushed his way onto the bed, shifting Richard aside so he could be near Gaston. Richard left him to it, giving the doctor space to administer the preparation to Gaston. It did the trick: he inhaled deeply, making a loud, groaning sound as his limbs stretched with an artful jerk that knocked LeFou to the floor, winding him with the tiny bit of breath left in him escaping as a chuckle.

One of the ‘Ettes (Laurette) gasped, and Tom cheered. Gaston groaned again, turning onto his side, blinking his eyes open, stilted, like he was unused to the sensations that waking brought. His shirt had been pulled open a ways to help his chest and neck as he was revived, exposing chest hair. He eyed his friends blearily.

“That may be enough excitement!” the doctor, Gauthier’s friend, insisted. “Merci,” he said, handing the preparation in its vial back to Claudette. “Perhaps you should all attend to the gathering crowd while I perform an examination?”  


The ‘Ettes did not seem to like the idea. 

“I can’t work while he’s like this!” said Laurette.   


“He needs us,” Claudette insisted.  


“I wish we could stay,” sighed Paulette, eyes lingering on his chest.

“Out,” Gaston grumbled, finding his mouth dry, his limbs annoyingly heavy. It was an order, but something in it also seemed like a tired plea. If any of them, the ‘Ettes or the other friends of Gaston, had known the extent of the injuries he’d actually acquired the night before, they would not have left as easily as they did, but only Gaston and the enchantress truly knew.

The ‘Ettes had known Gaston longer than the rest of them, growing up alongside him in the village. They sighed and filed out, warning both the doctor and Gaston to make sure all was well, or they'd have to answer to the three of them.

***

It was too early for regular hours, but no one who knew Gaston could blame the crowd for the interest in his well-being.

“I don’t think I’m ready to serve drinks!” Claudette insisted, hand in her red dress’s pocket where the vial that had revived him rested. “Isn’t there something more we can do?”  


“He’s in good care,” Pierre insisted as he poured.   


“He certainly looks well, Claudette,” said Paulette. “He’s awake, and that boyish temper is back.”  


LeFou laughed. “Boyish temper, huh?” They knew what Gaston had been like as a boy, and he didn’t, but he didn’t see anything playful about Gaston’s temper.

"LeFou,” Laurette said suddenly, and he snapped to attention, looking up at her and her gold dress as she stood close. “Will you send this to that gentleman for me?” She offered him a tankard. 

“Anything for you, Laurette!” he hopped over with haste to the man she indicated, alternately hurrying and taking care with two hands on it, trying not to spill.

“Merci,” the large man thanked, swiftly taking the drink with a hand that was almost too steady. “The servers aren’t serving, hm?” He gestured to the sisters. “They seem worried. Everyone seems worried here.” 

LeFou took a long look at the man, unable to place him. “Well, the owner’s the town hero,” he explained. “And he was brought into town today, unconscious.”

The man nodded. “On horseback, from the forest.” 

Looking to his right, to his left, LeFou helped himself up onto the bench. “Were you were there when they brought him in, monsieur?”

There was a shout from the door from a red-faced Gauthier, who wasn’t supposed to run nearly as often as he did. “LeFou! Girls! The cursed castle!” he announced as he crossed the tavern, given a path by townsfolk all respectful of his experience as a soldier and as a village gossip. 

“What about it?” LeFou asked, turning around on the bench, but not hopping off. Something about the large man was strangely calm, confident, a little like Gaston at times. 

Gauthier nearly bowled him over in greeting, smacking him hard on the back, stopping him right where he stood. “LeFou! You have no idea what things they’re saying about the cursed castle!” he announced. Claudette saw the interruption and crossed the distance between LeFou and the bar, handing him his drink. He sighed into it with relief, shooting her a grateful look. 

“It’s...different. _Nice._ They’re throwing a ball. They’re throwing a ball there. _Today_.”

LeFou gestured to Pierre for a drink, feeling a lump form in his throat. Gauthier, uninvited, flanked the large man’s other side. The bench suddenly felt to LeFou that it was too small.

“You didn’t have to stay, you know,” said Gauthier. For a moment, LeFou couldn’t tell if Gauthier was talking to him or to the large man. He decided it didn’t matter. He helped himself down from the bench. His injury made it hard to sit for long anyway. 

Claudette crossed the distance that remained between LeFou and the bar with his drink. LeFou shot her a grateful look. “There’s gonna be a ball at the castle, in a few hours’ time,” Gauthier told her, suddenly behind LeFou. LeFou jumped. He really needed to calm his nerves.

“I don’t believe it. That place has never been used, barring that fight last night,” she pointed out. “Dick can’t even talk because that dresser,” she feigned socking LeFou in the jaw, he acted out the proper reaction as a reflex, the energy from the move settling in his stomach uncomfortably. Pleased, she handed him his mug.

“We can bet on it,” Gauthier said, the glint of a man of adventure in his eyes. Claudette’s eyes, already, would be catching that light, if LeFou looked at them.

Yeah. There it was. 

“I don’t want to go back there,” LeFou muttered into the tankard. “Not without Gaston, anyway.”

“As soon as he’s in good health, we’ll tell him we’re going,” Gauthier said, settled on it. LeFou choked on his sip. Gaston would listen to the old man, would get up, if he could rise and dress by then, and everyone else would listen to Gaston, just as they had the night before.

“It doesn’t sound like a good place to be,” repeated LeFou, taking another long swig as he headed toward the bar. Paulette was watching him with concern on his approach, so he grinned at her until she rolled her eyes and went back to worrying about Gaston instead.

He didn’t immediately hear Laurette as she called for him to send out another drink. Not even the second time.

His eyes scanned the tavern for the large man’s form, but he was gone.


	4. Pantomime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston is not going to act out his victory any time soon.

The last time so many people wishing to hear about Gaston had filled the tavern, the hunter had been regaling them with the tale of his latest expedition. It was a time-honored tradition, carefully planned out with the assistance of a friend—most often LeFou. He counted on his friends to help him recall details to reveal and embellish, as well as to heighten the drama into a sort of play.

LeFou was his most trustworthy friend in terms of secret-keeping and encouragement, but he was also the best actor among them, and great at taking the brunt of theatrical violence (whether planned or incidental). Their act often reduced Gaston to big, booming laughter in the end, if LeFou’s performance was good enough, which LeFou counted as both one of the highest compliments and as a true relief. 

Gaston was solemner than he seemed, often unable to truly appreciate the things that came so easily to him (which included nearly everything society appreciated). The frustration of the gap between everyone else’s ability to appreciate those things and the town hero’s obliviousness knotted up LeFou’s stomach with bitterness every now and then.  

The night before, among the ethereal light of dozens of torches, the two friends had started on plans for a big production of Gaston’s defeat of the Beast, complete with costume. LeFou’s own victory at the castle had not come at all, and instead he had gone running from it into a night of drinking with Dick and Stanley. At least he hadn’t been alone in his defeat, which would have been more shameful still. Somehow, Gaston was able to make being alone seem mythical and impressive instead of pathetic the way LeFou made it seem.

Patrons were talking about the castle being filled with a prince and nearly a hundred servants already, which was hard to believe if you didn’t know the place, much like some of Gaston’s tales about the forest. Unlike the stories of his friend’s hunts, the tale of a restored castle made LeFou nervous and not a bit proud, so he busied himself with serving drinks. He delivered nine drinks for Laurette by the time Gauthier’s friend said they could see Gaston again.

Laurette squealed in excitement at the announcement, insisting that the only way to head to the back room in style would be if LeFou were to escort her. It was her thanks for his efforts, and his heart fluttered despite itself. Perhaps any man with more self-protective romantic instincts than LeFou would have acknowledged the likelihood that none of the ‘Ettes would ever be interested in offering him more than the odd gesture of thanks, but as he proudly took her arm, being quite a bit shorter and not at all minding the alternate take on the tradition, he still held out some hope.

“He insists he doesn’t know how he was found unconscious. Sometimes, people do forget.” Docteur’s face was slightly skeptical all the same as they passed him.

“Well, if he has any secrets, he might tell one of us,” Gauthier teased, his gaze confirming that he meant LeFou. LeFou caught a hint of jealousy in the glance Laurette shot him as she pushed opened the door to Gaston’s room, arm still connected to him as they made their way inside.  


Gaston looked alert to the point of boredom and recovered to the point of glowing handsomeness. He looked better than LeFou on his best day. “Good morning, Laurette, LeFou. Gauthier. You’ll never believe what these two morons just suggested.” He paused for the drama of it, knowing he wouldn’t be interrupted. “They want to go back to the castle. Can you believe it? What’s the point?” LeFou looked over at Dick and Stanley as they sat at the foot of the bed doing nothing in particular to warrant the use of the word “moron.” 

No one offered a counter for a moment, so LeFou tried it. “Don’t you want to?” he pointed out carefully. “I mean...shouldn’t everyone?” 

“Sure. _Eventually._ ” Gaston ran a strong hand through his sweat-damp hair, trying to fix it up a little in the presence of Laurette (since otherwise he would not have bothered). “But I’m still recovering, aren’t I?”  


“Recovering from what?” asked LeFou, and the rest of Gaston’s guests found it to be a thoughtful point. "I mean, specifically."  


“I can’t remember,” Gaston said. He eyed LeFou for a moment, almost as if daring him to challenge the statement, which was confusing. What could he possibly be hiding, with a track record like his? Gaston should have wanted to see the castle, to revel in his victory. 

“We should definitely go! There’s going to be a prince in it now!” Laurette exclaimed, pulling away from LeFou to stand at the side of the bed. “Oh, Gaston. It sounds romantic.”

“Romantic?” He barked out a laugh. “Ha! The place was ugly! Totally drab! Not fitting for a prince at all. You weren’t there, Laurette.”

“Maybe it looks nicer in the day time,” Paulette piped up from the doorway. “I want to see the prince too!”

LeFou took a chance. “Hey, girls, here’s an idea: Maybe Dick and Stanley can take you, and Tom can drive. I’ll stay and look after the big guy, of course.” It was a decent plan. It would at least make Gauthier and the rest stop talking about it, and he’d have info from people he trusted.

Gaston’s eyes narrowed. LeFou tried out a kind smile, like he was benign, a moron. He should have seemed as enthusiastic as the rest of them, but he wasn't, and, for some reason, neither was Gaston. If Gaston could just put his pride aside, they'd be able to avoid the castle no problem.

“We’ll go,” Gaston decided. LeFou swallowed hard. Now that someone else was acting suspicious, Gaston was coming for them full force, his own fate be damned. “I’ll be in good hands, if LeFou goes with me, and the ‘Ettes.”

“Where is it you’re going, in your state?” called Claudette from the door. Gaston and LeFou eyed each other again, their strange chess match of a standoff new, though it was hardly the first time they’d discussed situations on a different level than the rest of their friends without indicating they were doing so. 

Gaston dropped back to the plane the rest of the conversations were on so the rest of them would not ask any questions. “Okay, who’s serving drinks? I won’t stand for idleness,” he called out in the mock censure that always made Claudette beam. “You three are the most lazy women in the whole town! No wonder you’re single.”

“Just like you, mon chef!” Paulette said, giggling, and it made her sisters giggle too.  


“I’m going to be just fine, Claudette,” Gaston went on, swiftly dropping the game with the ‘Ettes, as he often did. “You’ll need me. We’ll go in a few hours. Stanley insists that the woods have somehow changed, and we’ll see about that. No one knows these woods like Gaston.”  


"What about this place?” asked Claudette.  


“We’ll close up! We have plenty of profit this morning, I’m sure. Normally, we wouldn't even have been open. This is an occasion for discovery.” He glanced at LeFou, and LeFou carefully nodded in personal agreement.

“It’s decided!” exclaimed Claudette. “Do you need any help getting ready, then?” She gazed at him with her adventure eyes and only a hint of mirth about his weakened physical state.

LeFou stepped closer to the bed, stared up at Gaston carefully as the man brushed off the offer with practiced ease. The ‘Ettes went to close down the tavern, and Stanley went out to start planning with Dick and Gauthier. 

“Fetch me that outfit, you know the one. And then, I’ll see you on the path to the forest, my friend,” Gaston said, his gaze a clear indication that, if he was going down, he was taking LeFou with him. It was an attitude LeFou actually had a lot of respect for. He had his reasons for fearing the castle, sure. But he’d push them all aside as best he could in order to learn what Gaston’s were. Gaston understood that without him having said a word about it.


	5. Pardon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston visits the castle.

A forest can be known intimately by a man who has explored it many times since childhood, provided the forest has not been cursed; if it has been cursed since before he ever entered it and loses its curse when he is grown, he will no longer know it, and his discomfort will be evident.

Having done a superior job in forcing each other to lead the way to the castle, Gaston and LeFou found themselves atop Gaston’s horse Magnifique in their best attire, fates tied as neatly as the bow at Gaston’s neck as they vied for the position of Most Unaffected Fool on the path to the castle.

The forest’s strange new ambiance—one of peace, even safety—was disturbing them both. Up until the attack on the castle, it was rare for anyone to brave the forest paths, but as they rode, followed by Thomas and the rest in his coach, they saw at least another carriage, and many villagers who were actually on foot.

More villagers were heading to the castle than were heading from it, but those on their way back spoke openly, their tone jovial, almost reverent. The prince was handsome, and charming, they said (because who would say otherwise?). Perhaps it would be advantageous to have the castle occupied once more.

Most importantly, Belle was at the party. Not everyone knew how Gaston had given into his own weakness, his obsession; they were free to assume he was still courting her in a typical way (rather than in a way that included hunting the Beast against her will). He cut off the conversation about Belle as quickly as he could; he would assess his chances with her, if there were any, when he arrived. 

The blankets and cloaks in Thomas’s coach remained folded, suspiciously unnecessary. The winter was gone, its chill absent and its snow melting into the ground where new buds rose up like an invasive species. Gaston sighed out a breath at the loss, well aware that he was being observed as LeFou sat behind him. 

“It may not be all bad,” he mentioned over his shoulder, “if she’s there.” It sounded like a question by the end, and he winced at his voice’s betrayal.

LeFou shrugged. “This is supposed to be a good thing, according to...everyone. We should enjoy it, right?”

“’Everyone’ is one thing. What do _you_ think?” Gaston murmured against the lack of a harsh wind.    


“Uh,” LeFou started, tone dark. He offered nothing else, however. Perhaps what he wanted to say was something he could not form words for, or else  _would_  not. 

“Well, what do you think about _Belle?_ ” Gaston clarified.

“I don’t know. Do you really think she’ll want to see you, Gaston?" Gaston’s grip tightened reflexively. 

“Ha!” Gaston laughed out sharply. “Of course she will! We’re friends. We always have been.” 

“Gaston,” LeFou sighed, as if Gaston were _disappointing_ him.  


Gaston wished the people in front of them would hurry. He was being faced with a  _peaceful_ present, a potentially-embarrassing future at the castle, and could only remember flashes of the night before, hoping more would come to him in time. That was an entire timeline of unknowns, thank you, and most of the dull villagers around him would not understand at all. He saw things they often didn’t, and kept them in the dark about whatever he could.

LeFou usually kept up, however. “What?” Gaston demanded. “What is it you’re sitting on, LeFou?”  


“She liked him. A lot,” LeFou said quickly, giving a shrug.   


A wave of unfamiliar jealousy hit Gaston before breaking across a shore of confusion. Belle and _who_? How could there be a man she would have spent any time with, that Belle, especially while trapped in a castle with...

“The Beast?!” he shouted out, loud enough the people around them started staring, their gazes hitting him with little pinpricks of heat on his neck, his jaw. He wanted to punch something, wondering idly how easy it would be to sock LeFou from his position.

“As far as I know, she didn’t have any other ‘he’s,” LeFou whispered, lowering his tone so the other villagers would ignore them again. Gaston had enough inclination to save face that he didn’t continue the conversation aloud, but he was not calm.

No man knew Belle like Gaston did, aside from her father, who, according to those who had passed, was at the castle too, well and seemingly sane. While he hadn’t been well before, he’d been mostly sane. Who knew if Gaston would be labeled as either in time. 

“Do you notice anything off about this place, besides the weather and the people?” Gaston asked his friend finally.  


“Yeah!”  


“No game,” they said together. 

“Am I truly awake, LeFou?” Gaston asked. LeFou’s grip on him tightened briefly. 

“Sure, you are!” LeFou said. “And we’re almost there. Think things’ll get even weirder before we’re done? They’ll have to, right?”  


Gaston swallowed. “Shut up, LeFou.” LeFou had no idea how weird things had the potential to get. 

***  


If Gaston’s segmented memories were being pieced together right, he was fairly sure he had  _died_  the night before. Between the forest being too peaceful and the dark castle suddenly turning into a tourist spot, perhaps he’d even entered Paradise unawares. 

Hopping down off his horse, lifting LeFou off her as well, he walked her toward a waiting footman with a practiced confidence, expecting no trouble at all from the doormen or butler. He was dressed impressively, was built impressively. He always earned trust and admiration in a way LeFou’d once told him he hated him for, everywhere he went. 

Why, then, did the young footman they were approaching with Magnifique excuse himself with wide eyes before hurrying up the stairs and into the castle? There was no explanation forthcoming, as LeFou stared up at Gaston and Gaston stood still as a statue.

A different footman stepped forward to take the reins from Gaston, slowly, saying, “Please remain here, sir.” He assessed Gaston, just exactly like Gaston assessed the threat of a wild animal, before taking Magnifique toward the stable.

There was only one possible explanation Gaston could think of for such strange behavior. Two, actually, if Belle was allowed to request he not be allowed into the party, and, if that was the case, he could not be in Paradise after all.

The other explanation involved... _unknowns_. What, exactly, had happened the night before? He hadn’t done hardly any of the property damage; that had been LeFou and the rest. He’d met the Beast face to face, looking deep into too-human eyes full of thoughts he hadn’t understood. For all he knew, the Beast might still be alive, somewhere in the castle, lurking, if he hadn’t finished him off before apparently falling to his death. Gaston couldn’t find his favorite hunting knife anywhere, either! Not that the Beast needed any weapons, with claws and teeth and superhuman strength that actually bested Gaston’s. 

It must not have looked as if Thomas and the rest were travelling with him, as the carriage was parked for them readily and none of them but the beautiful ‘Ettes were given a second glance. “Go on inside,” Gaston insisted, waving them onward with a flourish. “They want to have a word with me.”

“For some reason,” said LeFou darkly. Gaston rested a hand on LeFou’s shoulder casually, a gesture of dominance and not of affection.

”They must be planning a grand entrance for you!” said Paulette.  


“We don’t want to go in without you!” Laurette declared.

"We’ll wait with you here,” said Claudette.

The meaning of Gaston’s gesture was understood, convincing LeFou to swallow and say, “It’s fine! He can handle this!” 

Gaston’s metaphorical town square statue of an image was in danger of being desecrated, and whether the degree of destruction was that of copper weathering or that of a volcano’s wrath would remain to be seen. Casting doubts about his ability to get into the party would be nearly unforgivable. “LeFou, you should go as well.”

LeFou watched as the ‘Ettes took the arm of Gauthier, Dick, and Stanley. “No. I think I should stay here. We’ll be right in. Right, Gaston?” His question did not require an answer, and he did not want one. He had no desire to enter the castle at all. If, as it almost looked to him, Gaston might not be allowed in, that suited him just fine. He’d deal with the fallout of his friend, who was a little violent but had proven to have a short memory for most perceived slights—the thing with Belle notwithstanding.

No, LeFou felt he was in the very spot he wanted to be as the others left them, no matter Gaston’s clear annoyance that he wanted to stay. The annoyance only made Gaston seem that much more guilty. It was uncomfortable to see the footman return, but not as uncomfortable as it would be to go inside, where the prince...had just left?!

LeFou’s curiosity died suddenly. They’d pulled a prince out of a celebration to see Gaston? Why? His eyes darted to the stable he could barely see. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was being sought out, too.

The prince was tall and blond, with eyes that were open and expressive. There was something heavy and discerning in his gaze, and he, too, looked surprised to see Gaston. Gaston had lived in the village his whole life, and someone had had to live in the castle at some point for it to exist. LeFou wondered if they had a history, these two Most Handsome Men.

“Your highness,” Gaston said with a bow. There was a moment where LeFou stared at the prince in deep observation, more or less frozen in his thoughts. Gaston offered LeFou a generous kick then, which sent him sprawling forward onto the dirt road. He dealt with the new position on instinct, bowing low to the ground. It felt like far too long before the footman knelt to help him up.

"Gaston, was it?” the prince asked, sparing a glance of concern for LeFou. He offered his hand to Gaston. “I believe we met last night.”

Gaston sighed audibly in relief. That explained the recognition, then. It was equally relieving to know there was someone who could tell him what had happened the night before once and for all.

“I’m afraid I’ve lost my memory of it,” Gaston said honestly, gaze earnest.   


The prince looked surprised again, taking a moment to figure out whether Gaston was being honest as their hands remained locked between them. Finally, Gaston took the hand, offering the signet ring a kiss, remembering his manners. 

“Welcome to the castle,” the prince said finally, pulling his hand away after a moment. “Let me know when it all comes back to you.” He turned away then, the distance between Gaston and LeFou and those front doors seeming to grow as he made the footsteps they would need to follow in. 

It wasn’t like Gaston could argue with a prince. He nodded numbly, though he could no longer be seen.

“What the hell, Gaston?” asked LeFou in a fierce whisper. Gaston actually shrugged, arms out to show the lack of a grasp he had on the situation.

“I really,” Gaston growled out, “do not remember.” 

“Come on.” Grasping Gaston by the elbow and giving a tug, with LeFou’s help, they made their way to the doors together, past the butler who was also eyeing them with notable distaste.

Gaston paused, took in a breath to steel himself. It was just a party. He liked dancing, and he would spend most of the time being asked to dance by the women of the village, most of them single, some of them not.

He hoped none of the villagers knew what it was that he’d done, or, if they did, that they would let him know in a quiet way, in a way that protected his image. 


	6. Primeval

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaston attends the ball.

Gaston had to admit that Laurette had a point about the castle looking pleasant, even romantic, with its soft colors and cherubim, but they had not been there the night before, so he was not feeling comforted so much as incredibly wary. 

“I think magic has been here,” Gaston muttered as he recalled gargoyles and, of course, animate furniture, all nowhere to be seen. “And I think that’s why Stan and Dick wanted us to come.” For another villager, stating that magic had been present in a situation would have been a likely sign of ignorance about how something worked, but for Gaston, and for the rest of those who had attacked the castle the night before, it was a theory based on experiences outside the realm of nature.  


This is not to say Gaston was not ignorant. He could rest on laurels of ignorance for years to come, especially when it came to understanding the way the hearts and minds of other people worked. He was confident more than he was right, determined to crush whatever seemed strange or stuck out. 

Gaston offered tight, winning smiles to every servant that eyed them strangely, which was every servant that they passed, and LeFou's grip was tight on his arm, the blatant lack of disuse in the restored castle making him wish Gaston wouldn’t linger. 

“It’s  _gorgeous_  in here!” Gaston finally declared, wrinkling his nose after the thought became sound. “We should leave.” The state of it all felt like an insult, felt too grand. He considered abandoning their expedition for a wicked moment.  


LeFou had been considering it since before they left, and Gaston’s words were surprising, but he wasn’t going to let them slip away. “Okay,” he said softly.

“Hmm?”

“Okay,” he announced, with more energy, taking in an audible breath. He began tugging at Gaston’s too-steady arm. “LeFou!” Gaston snapped, but LeFou pulled harder, using the power of his full weight so that Gaston would turn around and they could go.

Gaston was forced to lean toward the lower center of gravity, but his feet remained planted like a tree whose roots were too deep in the damp forest floor for its fate to bring it anywhere else. 

“C’mon, Gaston!” He’d had it with his friend’s immovability, physical or otherwise.  


“We can’t!” Gaston snapped. It drew a little attention from the staff, their confused glances compiling, so he lowered his voice, ignoring LeFou’s impassioned glare to hiss, “What does it look like if we leave after talking to the prince personally?”

“How does it look?” Incautiously, LeFou climbed up over shin, thigh, and waist til he was glaring at him face to face. He gripped a ridiculous shoulder to emphasize his point. “Gaston, I don’t care about how stuff _looks_.” 

Apparently not.

Gaston lifted LeFou from under the arms, taking back what power he could. “So, what, then? Flee to your cottage like last night?” he mocked.

“Yes,” said LeFou easily, hardly affected by the shift in position. If Gaston had given in  _just once_ , they could have been at the tavern, comfortable, content. "If you wanna make fun, go right ahead.” 

Gaston narrowed his eyes, choosing challenge over reason. “You have such a small gait. It could take a while to get to _safety_. Why not stay here?”   


“Gaston.” There was a sort of threat filling the tone that Gaston was unused to hearing. He was still ruminating on the wrongness of all the differences and unknowns in the environment, thank you, and didn’t need any differences in LeFou to suddenly start sprouting up too.   


“There are a lot of things I can’t do ‘right’ in this world,” LeFou agreed evenly, finding just a hint of amusement in the truth of it all. “It’s made for people like you. But fleeing’ll be a lot quicker than waiting for a stranger to save me!”

“What do you know of it anyway, LeFou?” Gaston asked with a snarl, the wound of having been rescued still fresh in his mind. Was that what he’d meant?

“Nothing, Gaston.” LeFou slumped a little as he was held in the air, giving a small kick. “Nothing that’d concern you, anyway. You should know by now: Fighting every battle doesn’t keep a person safe.”  


Interesting. Gaston eased LeFou to the floor like a brook trickling over the faces of smooth rocks, his large hands pooling their fluid strength on the slight shoulders. LeFou hadn’t been blaming Gaston for the state he’d been brought back to town in. He was merely offering life advice.

Pathetic. But, harmless.

Gaston’s hands slowly released him. “I died last night,” he shared, rising back to his full height. 

LeFou gazed up at him, taking in the information for a moment. “Was it like that time your heart stopped?”   


Gaston shook his head. That hadn’t been anything like a fatal fall. “I remember my bones breaking, like the snapping of twigs.” He enjoyed the shock this drew from his friend. “Falling backwards through the pitch-dark storm, with nothing stopping me until the ground did. I can feel it in me, a phantom ache.”

“You can?” asked LeFou.

Gaston nodded. “I don’t like it here. It’s as different from last night as our forest is. What’s worst of all? I find myself drawing attention in an undesirable way in this castle.” He glanced at the nearest members of the staff, then at the passing villagers with their shuffling, avoidant steps. 

“Well, welcome to my world, Gaston,” LeFou said darkly at the revelation. “You may just be due.”

Gaston’s incredible luck had finally failed him, then. What would it be like, a life where the order kept shifting underneath him every time he thought he’d regained some footing? 

LeFou reached up and took his hand again, reminding Gaston that he was looked up to, and it was enough to help him locate a reservoir of pride. “If we do this, I’m gonna need you to keep an eye on me,” said LeFou.

“On your...drinking?” Gaston suggested absently. He couldn’t envision anyone but himself being in any danger at a ball. No one else in town could possibly have as many dark secrets as he had. 

LeFou looked up at him for a moment. "I’m not staying here,” he said simply, as if it was imbued with clear-cut meaning. 

Gaston tried to make it connect with what he knew of the situation, but failed to see his point. “We’ll head straight home,” he assured magnanimously. “Even if you’re completely drunk.” 

LeFou hit Gaston with one of those rare looks that meant that he was missing something, and that LeFou almost pitied him for it. With everything that was going on, Gaston decided to muster enough grace to ignore it.

***

The light pouring in from outside through the ballroom’s numerous large windows was almost majestic, highlighting the room in its clean, careful beauty. Neither man moved into the imposing space for a long moment, feeling connected, frozen together like the gnarled trees they had once known.

They opted to inch inside only when the villagers behind them were getting too close, and even then, only to occupy the corner of the room. “We’re sitting ducks,” LeFou said openly. 

“Not necessarily.” Gaston had been able to protect his image ever since his adolescence, upholding the status quo as well as if he’d apprenticed for it. He took a moment to plan his approach. “What a beautiful room! This wine looks incredible, doesn’t it?” he said a bit loudly, pasting on that winning smile once more, and LeFou had to admit it: there was something comforting about his choice to sound positive, pleasant, in a way he didn’t typically bother to. 

“I’ve never been in such a large, fancy room,” he muttered to LeFou, offering him a wine glass. 

“I have,” LeFou said cryptically over a grateful swig.  


“You have?” 

LeFou nodded without looking up, downing a bigger gulp than before.

“Gaston!” They both turned to watch Marie’s approach. She adjusted her head wrap with a grin, ready to dance, and Gaston sighed, loosening the tension in his shoulders with strength of will. Although she visited the tavern less frequently than some, she had a knack for seeing through his bravado in a way he didn’t like to experience for long stretches of time. 

“Marie! How are you?” he said, and as she took his arm to lead him away, intending to charm him, he spared his friend one last glance. 

Not anticipating any offers to dance that weren’t borne from pity, LeFou took the opportunity to see what was going on with Belle. He watched her and the prince twirl in a comfortable unison as he drained the rest of the wine in his glass. 

When Belle had first moved into town, she’d excelled in school to the point of helping tutor the other children. While teaching Gaston to read, she had captured his heart, and the ‘Ettes had been jealous of his single-minded focus ever since. 

If Gaston would appreciate her for who she was, they would be a good match, LeFou thought. It was her ability to rise above the way the village liked to do things that had drawn his attention in the first place. Now, all Gaston seemed to want to do was eliminate whatever about her made her stick out. 

It wouldn’t work, though. She was strange, but not in a dangerous way. LeFou was strange himself, day in and day out, in a way he could never hope to hide. Any effort LeFou spent cracking jokes about Belle or her father was the product of impersonal respect for the status quo and not due to any actual failing of hers that he could see.

He jumped when Laurette placed a hand on his shoulder, a latent fight-or-flight response warring with a desire for connection.   


“Why is it her?” she asked LeFou, her bitterness that of a dreamer seeing an old friend succeed for too long in the most frustrating arena. “It’s  _always_  her, LeFou. Why is she so special?"   


LeFou watched Belle a little longer, idly wondering if Laurette would ever be interested in him romantically. If she got over Gaston, as they all eventually would have to, it seemed, it was incredibly unlikely he would be next on her list. She was the bravest and most dramatic of the sisters, but that alone would not be enough to bridge the gap between Gaston’s persona and LeFou’s. 

“She’s smart, I suppose,” LeFou offered.  


“And I’m smart too.”  


LeFou glanced up at her defiance and her confidence, his lip quirking. “Of course you are. But you’re  _here_  when you’re smart. She’s in a different place, all the time.”

Laurette nodded slowly.

“She’s special because she’s strange. Gaston doesn’t understand her, so he wants to. Thrill of the hunt,” he pointed out. 

“I can see the appeal,” she admitted. “But I'm worth hunting too.”

He paused to look up at her again. “Yes, of course,” he agreed.  


She squared her shoulders at that. “I should try to make him jealous. We should dance together,” she gestured out to the floor, and LeFou smiled at his consolation prize of a fortune. Making Gaston jealous hadn’t worked for anyone in town yet, but maybe he would wise up one day. 

“Normally, I would trip over myself to dance with you, Laurette—literally! I don’t want to draw attention to myself today, though.” Laurette gave his head a gentle pat, assuming his atypical appearance was the reason for his reluctance. Either that, or his clumsiness.

“Claudette often says I’m strange, all of the time.” 

He could see Claudette approaching them. “You’re complicated. It works for you. If you’d lived my sort of life, or Belle’s, you’d get why _she_ draws their attention, these...heroes. We’re not...insiders. People hate us, and try to avoid us.” 

“Maybe you’re right,” she sighed, sounding disappointed.  


He looked up at her again carefully, trying to impart something before her sister could overhear. “You deserve to be with someone who doesn’t see you as one of a group, but as your own person. Just...not so your own person you could never belong to another.” His arms crossed over his stomach, protective of the truth in his words and what they meant for his romantic prospects.  


“She’s looking at him now!” Laurette called suddenly, already having looked away from him and his advice. “Do you think our Belle would get jealous over Marie?” She had apparently missed LeFou’s point about being better off not catching Gaston’s attention, as he’d thought she might.  


He sighed. “Everything else seems to work out for him.” 

“It does, doesn’t it?” Laurette sighed dreamily.  


“Wine?” LeFou offered, reaching up for the nearest glass. When she didn’t want any, that was just as well.  


***

Marie followed Gaston in their first official dance, enthusiastic and knowing as ever. She caught him up on key gossip and mirrored every move like it was second nature. All Gaston had to do was pay a minimal amount of attention to it all, but he was failing to do so while Belle, at times only feet away from them, looked resplendent in a dress that glinted gold and kept staring, just...kept...staring. 

It was more attention than she usually paid him. He looked down at his outfit again, the one he’d chosen for the impromptu wedding she hadn’t liked, and he wondered if that was part of what kept catching her eye. It would look rather nice with her dress, wouldn’t it?  


“Gaston,” sighed Marie at his wandering attention.

“Gaston,” Belle said eventually, standing on her own after a number of songs, frowning deeply in confusion. 

“Excuse me, Marie,” Gaston said, releasing her and reaching for Belle’s hands in the same easy motion. 

Marie would find a new partner easily enough, shaking her head at him.   


“Gaston!” Belle repeated with shock as she was pulled close, her clever feet keeping up as he began to lead her across the floor. “What are you doing here?”  


“I came to see what all the fuss is about, of course.” He caught her gaze and held it, knowing he needed whatever she could tell him, for once. “I can’t remember what happened last night, but _he_ wants me to let him know when I can fill in the blanks. I could use your help. You were here, weren’t you?”

Belle’s eyes, their hazel tint enhanced by her dress, widened with concern, and he tightened his grip on her just slightly, glad to see she was as she always was: full of choices he could not predict. In his dreams, she was containable, her likeness hampered by his failings as a subconscious portraitist. “What blanks are you referring to?” she finally asked.

“Did I fall to my death?” He figured she would be unfazed by the question.

“Yes!” she said quickly. It was worse than remembering it, somehow, the fact that Belle had witnessed it, that anyone had, but especially her. It was somehow embarrassing.

“You couldn’t have survived,” she drove the point home. “You should both still be dead. You, and the one you killed.” She was testing him.

“Magic!” Gaston declared. “I knew it!” This stopped her dancing cold. He pulled her along for another few awkward movements, but released her swiftly then, the dance having lost its fluid appeal.

“You’ll notice that I wasn’t just talking about you and your death,” she pointed out. 

“Yes, and I heard you,” he said, though he could admit that he hadn’t been interested in finding out what she meant. “Something about...killing someone?” Gaston blinked at her. He had never once killed another man.

Did she mean...?

“Belle,” he explained quietly to her judgment, armed with his perception of patriarchal authority and the wonders of life and death. “This Beast of yours,” he paused, “...was no human. That's not murder; it’s hunting.” He offered a kind expression filled with self-aggrandizement and hope. “I rescued you last night, didn’t I, Belle? You’re too shy to say it, hmm?”

Belle took a horrified step back. “You really think you have a right to take whatever you want,” she said, her voice a controlled shout. The music in the ballroom stopped. Starting with the two of them in their mutual childhood world and moving outward, a stillness infected the dance floor. Gaston felt suddenly exposed. The stares he had barely noticed became a shift in atmospheric pressure, the friendly chatter a murmur like that of distant thunder.  


Belle turned to the prince, choosing him, speaking to him intimately in a whisper that was melodic and soothing. Gaston could not hear the words she used and would not let himself move closer, though he wished he could. Why was she pretending to be so dear to this stranger, all the while rejecting her history with Gaston and his hard-won Image?  


“Everyone,” the prince announced, a bit uncertain. He glanced at Belle, then addressed the room again. “Indulge me, please, in a modest tour.” 

All around them, townsfolk began to follow. Belle returned to Gaston’s side when he didn’t move quickly enough for her taste. “I’m going to show you this room personally,” she declared.  


“Show me what?” Gaston asked, put out by the maternal grip of her hand, and by her tone that reminded him of struggling with schoolwork. Both were unsuited for his persona.    


“Exactly what you’ve done.” 

His anxiousness coiled together in his gut at that. She was too strong for her own good, too determined. He didn’t know how to fix that about her.

Gaston was startled when his shortest friend showed up at his side. 

“Here, Gaston,” LeFou muttered, handing him a glass of wine he readily accepted. Something in Belle’s gaze softened for a moment as she watched the exchange, but the compassion was gone again by the time her eyes met Gaston’s once more.

LeFou was certainly in better spirits, now that Gaston was the focus of so much new attention. “It’d be rude not to go, right?” he teased, and Gaston glared, wondering what could possibly be waiting for them all in the restored castle.  


He made a mental note to make LeFou pay for any undue emotional stress he suffered, provided they made it back to the tavern in one piece.


	7. Prestige

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The West Wing is open for all visitors at this time.

Belle’s hand was gripping his so steadily, a sensation he remembered from when they were young. Once in a while, in that lifetime before, she would take him somewhere in town and show him something she thought was much more interesting than it was, or at least much less strange than it was. The ‘Ettes were much less likely to follow her wherever she wished: They were always ready to protest and have ideas of their own, ideas that would get them where they wanted to go. Children needed to be shaped into pictures of larger society over time, after all. 

Gaston recovered from Belle’s forwardness only after the trek up the stairs was over, the complex old memories unable to hold him for very long. With a slight motion, a halt and a tug, he redirected them to the side of the hallway.  She let go of his hand immediately, creating distance between them.

In truth, her discomfort made him want to close the distance again, but he was stronger than such an idea. “When are we going to go after him and fix this once and for all?” he asked in a low voice. 

She looked up at him for a long moment, trying to figure out what exactly he was talking about. LeFou, stepping close, mimed the Beast. She stared at him as well, understanding the topic, but not understanding why it mattered. “We’re not,” she finally said.

Gaston shared a narrow-eyed look with LeFou, then looked at her with her lack of concern. She was a nice influence sometimes, but sometimes she just didn’t seem to _care_.

“I didn’t mean you have to come with me. You were never one for hunting.” Most women weren’t, unless for some reason they had to be.

“No, that was Paulette, wasn’t it?” she said thoughtfully. Paulette had really taken to it, before she’d been forbidden from joining him. “But, Gaston,” she sighed, “that’s not what I mean.”  


“ _We’ll_ do it,” Gaston gestured to LeFou. “Not you, Belle. And any men who want to join. There’s an armory here, right? And too much man power to waste.”  


“Just,” Belle paused. “Don’t worry about it. Alright?” She turned away, stepping toward the rest of the crowd, expecting him to follow, and he rolled his eyes as he did, not wanting to see what the prince might do now she had his ear.

“Belle,” he tried.  


“We’re not going to hunt down the Beast. I don’t have time to explain it to you.”  


Gaston turned to share a look with LeFou again. All wild beasts were vicious, ready to attack and kill at the slightest sense of weakness. Of _course_ they were going to kill that abomination, that creature made villain, especially with people veritably flocking to the forest and castle, vulnerable and exposed. They’d stop trying over his twice-dead body.

It took him a good moment to recognize that a few of the portraits on the wall in the long hallway were of the prince himself, the one who was leading the way. Just how quickly had they moved everything into the castle, anyway? Where exactly had he been ruling before?

Near the heavy door being held open for them was a portrait of the prince marred with a set of claw marks that obscured the face. A shiver ran down Gaston’s spine at the sight. That silly woman, too caught up in storybooks to recognize true danger, seemed unfazed.

When Gaston caught LeFou’s eye and nodded to the claw-marked portrait, LeFou reacted the right way: with trepidation of his own. The filling room was full of chattering and gasping villagers, all potential victims ready to be caught unawares.

Old furniture, old textiles gleamed, polished and whole, preserved, restored. It brought to mind for him the gargoyles that had gone mysteriously angelic and _clean_. The biggest portrait in the room itself, right in the middle on the far wall was of the Beast, as if he’d sat still long enough to get a portrait painted of him, as if that wouldn’t have made his blood boil over with impatience. 

The prince made his way over to the unlikely depiction. He stood by it and waited as the crowd reacted.

“A Beast!” 

“A monster!” 

“He’s hideous!” said the villagers.  


“We’ve got to do something,” Gaston hissed at Belle. “I know you’re more interested in your stories, but at least those villains don’t come off the page and devour children.”  


Belle glared deeply in offense. “Wolves are one thing, but this is different. Just listen, Gaston. Listen to what he has to say.”

A bit put out, and, honestly, a little worried for Belle’s sanity, he bit his tongue, even giving LeFou a light nudge for starting to voice a protest of his own. 

The prince looked around at the concern and fear on the villagers’ faces, and something about it all stopped him short of opening his mouth to speak. The silence grew noticeable, grew patience-testing.

The butler, round and just a bit smug in general, made his way to the prince’s side, standing purposefully, whispering something to him. The prince had wide blue eyes he was casting out over the crowd he’d led into the room, seeing a separation between his intentions and the crowd’s mood. Was it a stream he could ford?

Belle was pushing to the front in the very next moment, once again choosing the stranger with no words and fancy parties over a solid candidate for a Village Partner. Maybe she was too far gone in her fairy tales to notice. 

“I’ve been prince here for a long time,” the prince finally said. “I never really left. I just...hid. I’ve been here longer than some of you have been alive.” He glanced at Belle then. Her hand found its way to his. He looked young, Gaston thought. Perhaps even a little younger than Belle and Gaston were.

“Is that even possible?” asked LeFou. Gaston didn’t know. Likely, it was magic that had caused such a result, if what the prince was saying was true. 

“This,” the prince gestured to the large portrait, the top of it high above his head on the wall, deep claw marks across the face that was not snarling or gnashing its teeth like a creature of the forest but instead somehow open, awaiting judgment. It looked...human. It looked...no.

It looked like...

“This is me,” the prince said, and the crowd began to whisper. Not Gaston, though, his mouth falling open. The same Beast who had stolen Belle the night before?

LeFou moved toward the edge of the room then to get a better look. Was there any truth, even any magical truth, to what the prince was saying? “For ten years, ten years for this castle, I’ve been here, with my staff. We didn’t move in. We’ve been here. We’ve been cursed.”

Maurice was at the edge of the room too, also having a hard time seeing, and he glared at LeFou when he got close. “What are you doing here?” Gaston heard him ask.  


“Oh, hey, Maurice.” LeFou looked for Gaston and caught his eye. He wasn’t sure what to say to defend himself, which, since he hadn’t wanted to even look at the castle, much less walk up and go inside, Gaston thought was understandable.

Honestly, Gaston barely knew why they were there, other than the vague threats of some prince and his old friend.

“Oh, Maurice!” Claudette called out all of a sudden, stepping toward the three men. “You look so well!” Gaston and LeFou relaxed. She would save them.  


“Claudette,” Maurice said, his gaze softening. He loved the ‘Ettes, had known them ever since they’d all been friends, and Claudette had been the one most interested in his inventions. Primarily, she’d tried to use the ideas he came up with for gaining the attention of Gaston, but Maurice had admired her interest and her willingness to acquire knowledge anyway.  


Claudette took his arm smoothly. “So you did see a Beast, Pap'inventeur,” she said, sounding impressed. 

“Yes,” he said, defenses falling away. He patted her arm sweetly for a moment. “Yes, Claudette. And he was a terrible sight when he was angry!”

“He was,” admitted Gaston softly, glancing back at the prince, who was looking afraid again, was looking overwhelmed as villagers talked over one another to ask him questions. Quite a difference.

“Like most men, then,” Claudette rolled her eyes. “Except, a prince as well. That’s impressive.” She put her free hand on her hip. “I think I like it.”  


“Claudette, we should be grateful he’s human and think on it no more,” Gaston pointed out firmly. There was nothing exotic about being a monster who raged without words and disregarded societal expectations.  


“It reminds me of myself,” admitted Claudette. “Sometimes we’re more complex than one thing at a time, you know?”  


“Ah, and how complex are you?” asked Gaston absently.   


“I’m only the Claudette you know some of the time,” she said vaguely. “Sometimes, I’m...another one. I’m going to go ask him if he knows what I mean.” She pulled away from Maurice with a quick adieu, and Gaston and the rest watched her make her way toward the prince.

“He captured me,” Maurice told Gaston with a shake of his head. “I was his prisoner, for no very good reason. And Belle came here to take my place.”   


A kind older woman in a cap made her way to Maurice, asking him if he’d like to take a walk with her and the boy she was with. Gaston and LeFou were alone at the side of the room, then.

“Belle did that, for her father,” said LeFou. “That’s amazing. I can’t even imagine.”  


“Which part?”  


“Having someone I care about enough to take their place here,” LeFou admitted. “Or having a father I’d want to do that for.”  


Gaston nodded. “It’s very brave,” he admitted. “She can be, at times. Very brave.” He didn’t understand why it was only every now and then.

“No more questions, if you please,” the butler finally declared. “Let’s all let him adjust!” Reluctantly, the crowd had to follow the order, settling for talking amongst themselves as they filed back out of the old room. 

Gaston stayed, paying it little mind when the ‘Ettes collected LeFou and took him with them and the rest of les amis. His ready eyes found Belle’s, and he waited for her to return to him to further discuss. After all, she had meant it to be a learning opportunity for him. He’d definitely learned that he’d almost murdered a member of royalty. 

Although, maybe murder was indeed a little strong.

“Gaston, you owe him an apology,” she said, the man just behind her looking wary, eyes still wide and just a little paranoid. “You tried to murder a prince who’s been here longer than you or I have.”

Carefully, Gaston decided to nod. “Alright. I’m sorry I tried to kill you,” he said, blinking. The curse must have affected time, like he’d said, because he couldn’t be older than Belle and himself.

“You can’t do that anymore,” Belle said carefully. “Hunt things, the way you did. Things are different. The curse is gone.”  


How dare she declare what needed to be done, as if she knew about the reality of the things he’d accomplished in that forest. “You don’t hunt!” Gaston pointed out, done with her condescension. It was his life-long area of study. “You’ve never liked it! I know why I’m revered, why I’m _needed_ , Belle, and you, you’re happy with your prince, I can see.”

He paused, taking in her surprise at his sudden passion, his raised voice. “It seems sudden,” he added, gesturing between the two of them, “but as long as he’s a human, that’s completely different from where we all found ourselves last night.”

“So you remember last night, then?” the prince finally spoke up, eyes lightly haunted, looking like one of his own scratched-up portraits, far off and incomplete.   


“Only what I remembered before, which is next to nothing,” he clarified. “I came back from the dead. I’m tired now. I think I’m gonna go, if you two are done trying to, what, humiliate me?”  


“We’re not,” Belle said. She paused, looking at Gaston. “Alright, maybe a little,” she admitted. “It’s not sudden, though, Gaston, my feelings for the prince.”  


“Oh, right,” he rolled his eyes. “Maurice told me. I suppose you’ve been here, ever since he returned to town.” He’d looked for her multiple times, figuring she’d been avoiding him.  


“All this time,” she agreed. “I’ve earned any appreciation I have for anyone here. This is my fiancé, actually, Prince Adam. You don’t have to like that, but you have to respect it, and you have to respect his role in town.”

“I apologized,” Gaston pointed out coolly, stung, a bit, by her having moved on to such a fresh new start. “What more could you want?”

Belle’s hand rested on his arm for a moment, a grounding feeling, but still one that made him feel uncomfortably alive. “That’s all I could ever expect from you,” she assured him, but something about it felt...bad. Maybe by now he owed her more, for their shared childhood, for her willingness to teach in a way that, despite his protest, didn’t really make him feel humiliated.

“Do you mind if I go home now?” Gaston asked. His face was drawn, the tone more tentative than usual. He was full of unusual Knowns and needed time to process them.

The prince and future princess dismissed him easily. Gaston heard the band playing again, saw villagers dancing again, but, despite sharing a look with Marie, that wasn’t what he wanted to do. When he located LeFou, LeFou practically leapt at him, tugging at his suit jacket. “Let’s go.”

He had no protest, not at the moment. The ride back on Magnifique seemed to go rather quickly, for which he was eternally grateful, though not as grateful, it would seem, as LeFou, who quietly sent prayers of thanks upward into the clear, blue sky.

Gaston tightened his grip on his friend just a little. He knew he was lucky, and LeFou felt as if he was too. Maybe it was a good omen, despite the fact Belle was apparently already betrothed. Could he find a new object for his affections? Possibly. She’d been the only one he’d ever been interested in in all the time he could remember.


End file.
